


valentine's day

by ont



Series: mockingbird [14]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Character Study, Co-Parenting, Ex Shit, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Old Marrieds, Past Mpreg, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 01:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ont/pseuds/ont
Summary: Louis and Liam accidentally forget about Valentine's Day. (original verse)





	valentine's day

**Author's Note:**

> guys i wrote this entire ass fic last year and just completely forgot to upload it lmaoo

LONDON, FEBRUARY 14, 2028

Louis’ attention dropped to his phone for all of three seconds, then: a thump and a wail.

He looked up across the back garden, his feet beginning to move before he'd even processed what happened.

Oliver and his friend St. John, who had come home with him after school (he was going the same posh English primary that Mia had gone to, where people named their kids stuff like St. John and Edmund), were playing on the swings of the newly installed playground set, and it appeared that Oliver had gotten a little too ambitious with the physics of the swing and ended up crash landing at the far end of the wood chips. He was clutching his elbow and crying.

St. John got off his own swing, stood back and watched this all with apprehension. Louis knelt next to his son, smoothing his dark hair back and pulling his jumper off over his head so he could examine his elbow.

Oliver didn't object as Louis manipulated his arm, checking it for breaks or sprains. He didn't find any; it was only a scrape. But as soon as he let go, Oliver burst freshly into crocodile tears, his initial tears of surprise having been exhausted.

“Oh, kiddo, you're alright,” Louis said, and smoothed the wetness from his cheeks. Oliver gazed up at him with his dark, puppyish eyes. “You’re fine, Oli. Does it hurt to do this?”

He straightened Oliver’s arm out. Oliver shook his head.

“What hurts, love?”

The scrape was what hurt. So Louis corralled the boys inside, taking Oliver by the hand, and went in the bathroom near the kitchen for Neosporin and plasters.

He could hear Liam clattering around in the other room as he peeled the little plastic wings off, and he shouted, “Hi Payno!”

“Hi Tommo!” his husband shouted back, and then dropped something and swore quietly.

“Can I put it on?” St. John said, eyeing the plaster.

“You want to?” Louis said, glancing down at him.

He nodded, so Louis handed him the plaster, then slathered Neosporin on his son’s elbow so his friend could very gingerly bandage him.

“You’re quite good at that,” Louis said, impressed. “You could be a doctor someday.”

St. John looked very chuffed at this. Oliver still looked upset. He was tenderhearted; Louis worried for him terribly and was always trying to build him a suit of armor — tossing him in pools, joking with him constantly, signing him up for junior rugby and footie and everything else there was.

“Babe,” Liam always said, with twinkling eyes, “he'll be fine, okay?”

“I know that!” Louis would exclaim.

 

 

Turning his kids over to the often shit realities of the world was Louis’ least favorite part of parenting. Since she started junior secondary, Mia had gotten more leaderly, shot up in popularity and started feuding with a girl who lead a different clique in their form. She hadn't told them about this until it reached a fever pitch, and the girl broke into Mia’s locker while she was showering after footie practice and stolen all her clothes and knickers.

This had seen Louis storming into the school for the ensuing parent teacher conference/mediation like it was the beaches of Normandy. On his heels was a hesitant Zayn, who was in town that week and offered to attend, apparently without realizing what exactly he'd gotten himself into. During the meeting itself, Louis aggressively defended their daughter while Zayn sat beside him looking anxious and haltingly interjected in agreement with him.

“She's not a bad kid,” he mumbled at one point, picking at a stray thread on his jeans. “She wouldn't’ve done anythin’ to provoke this. She, um, she keeps her own counsel, like.”

But it was true that Mia was much more rough and tumble than Oliver, who looked young for his age, smiled all the time and picked worms off the sidewalk after rainstorms to deliver them to safety.

Louis had watched him do exactly this on his first day of primary school. “There,” he babbled brightly as he settled the worm onto the grass beside a tree with gentle hands. “Go home, mister worm,” and Louis turned to Liam in a mild panic.

“D’you think he's ready?”

“Why wouldn't he be?” Liam said.

(He seemed to understand where his husband was coming from, though — he was looking at him the same way he did when they were backstage at One Direction’s first reunion concert, about to go on, and Louis muttered to himself, “What if they don't like us as much now? What if we've lost them?” Liam had reached out, gripped his sleeve and whispered, “We haven't.”)

“I dunno,” Louis admitted.

Liam wrapped an arm around him and together they walked their son to the school gate. After a bit of looking through the crowd they spotted Mia, whose junior secondary was connected to the primary school across the wide expanse of the posh campus and shared with it a headmistress. She had carpooled there earlier with a load of her friends. She didn't like them to drive her anymore, but they didn't take it personally — she was at that age.

“Look out for your brother!” Louis called to her, as Oliver made his way over to the boys he already knew from their gated neighborhood.

(They had met his teacher the previous week, done all the meters and meters of paperwork. Louis had watched in fond amusement as Liam filled out a form for them to be Room Dads, his eyebrows knitted as he sat squashed at a child-sized desk and scrawled cramped answers on the tiny lines provided. Oliver’s vaccinations were up to date, et cetera, and now he was playing amiably with the boys he'd run over to. He wasn’t anxious and clingy like he was when they'd left him at kindergarten. There was really no reason for them to hang around.)

Mia was lounging under a tree, chatting with her girls. When she heard Louis’ voice, she turned away from her friends and squinted over at him incredulously, being her hand to her eyes to block the sun. “Look out for what? Anvils?”

“Enough mouth,” Louis called back. “Humor me, please.”

“Alright, alright.”

They hung around at the gate a little longer, watching their kids and chatting up Priscilla, their neighbor and the mum to Jamie.

“So, are you two having a tough time leaving him at big kid school?” she said with a knowing twinkle, twisting the post of one of her diamond earrings. Jamie had left her side almost immediately, hollering, “Bye mum see you later mum!”

“Louis is,” Liam said, smiling.

“Oi, look at him just throw me under the bus.”

“It's true!”

Back in the Escalade, Liam started the engine and then glanced over at him. Louis put his sunglasses on. It was a bright August day.

“I dunno,” Louis said. “You don't worry?”

“Course I do. All the time. You know I do.”

Louis turned his head to look out the window as they drove through the lushly green, moneyed neighborhood that surrounded the school. House after house went by, all brick and beautifully cared for. “It's a mean world.”

“Oh, I don't think so,” Liam said gently. “Not on the whole of it.”

“Ah, I dunno. They're both just growing up so much, y’know…”

Liam reached over and squeezed Louis’ hand.

Louis cleared his throat. “Maybe we ought to have another,” he said.

Liam began to drive. “That the anxiety talking?” he said with hope in his voice.

“Maybe.”

“Don't tease me, then.”

“I'm sorry.”

Liam didn't say anything for a little bit.

“You know,” he finally said, and since they were at a light, he glanced over at him. “Mia’ll look out for him, she's just across the campus.”

“Right,” Louis had said, with relief. “She'd kill anyone who tried something.”

“Yeah, she's her father's daughter.”

 

 

With Oliver bandaged to his satisfaction, Louis herded them back through the house and out to the garden again. They ran pell-mell down the hill through the crisp winter air, laughing. Louis stood at the top and watched them with a smile. He liked their view, from the top of one of the higher hills in their neighborhood, so he had a nice view of their property and of the rolling of gardens and mansions to the back of them and on either side.

The sliding glass door creaked and he turned to see Liam, carrying a box that he looked to be struggling with. Louis reached behind himself and propped the door open for him. “What's all in there?”

Liam set the box heavily on the patio table and exhaled. “Um… Lanterns for the fenceline that I need to put new bulbs in. Hedge trimmers.” He rummaged around in it and held up an old Apple watch. “Huh. Bit of miscellany as well.”

“Where’d you find all this?”

“I'm cleaning out the pantry. You know we've got like, two Teen Choice Award surfboards in there.”

“I do,” Louis said, laughing. “They’re always blocking the pesto.”

“Anyway, I put them with our actual surfboards.”

Louis’ brow knit. “Not with the rest of our awards?”

“They're too big, it looked funny.”

As Louis stood grappling with this strange logic, Liam handed him the watch. He clicked the power button a few times. Dead battery.

Their Bluetooth-connected doorbell rang, then, making their phones vibrate in their pockets.

Liam squinted. “You expecting anyone?”

“Nah,” Louis said, so they went together to find out.

It was Zayn, looking sleepy and handsomely disheveled, like he had just come from the airport. He was at the start of another tour and always coming from an airport, except for when he just wasn't around, which lately was most of the time. He lifted his eyebrows at them as if in response to their confused faces.

“What’re you doing here?” Louis said, sort of impolitely, because it was Thursday.

“Daughter?” Zayn said briskly, and took his sunglasses off, blinking at them.

“Hang on,” Liam said, and looked at his phone. “Oh, Tommo, we’re fucking stupid.”

“Speak for yourself,” Louis said defensively, without even knowing what he was talking about. “Zayn, come in…” He stepped back so Zayn could get out of the bleary February sun. He did, and went for the kitchen, calling, “You got seltzer?”

“Bottom shelf in the fridge,” Liam called after him, then to Louis: “It’s Friday, not Thursday, it's the fourteenth. We've blown Valentine’s Day.”

Louis’ mouth fell open. “No!” They were normally very good at Valentine’s Day.

“It's my fault,” Liam said graciously. “Remember, I woke you up this morning and I was like, don't forget the bins, it's Thursday…”

“Oh, shit, that's why they didn’t take them,” Louis said. “I thought it's ‘cos I tried to throw away that TV.”

“Well,” Liam said, “I mean, they won't take that, yeah.”

“But I hid it under some things,” Louis said.

“Tommo.”

“What? You throw out tree branches all the time, and that isn't allowed.”

“Those aren't _hazardous…_ ”

“What's hazardous about a TV?”

Zayn came back into the foyer, holding a can of seltzer and texting. “Is Yas upstairs?”

“Yeah, if you can get her off her phone.”

Zayn took five steps toward the staircase bottom and shouted “YAS!”

“You can go up there,” Louis pointed out.

“She's gettin’ older, I like to give her her privacy,” Zayn countered.

When he looked down again, Louis glanced at Liam, who was distractedly shaking his head in dismay.

“I ordered so many flowers,” he said. “I told the bloke on the phone, yeah, bring ‘em ‘round tomorrow! Why didn't he correct me?”

“Aww, Payno, you don't need to still get me flowers,” Louis said, smiling at him.

“I get youse flowers every year, though...”

“What kind?” said Zayn.

“Different kind every time,” Liam said.

“Last year Mims had a football match, and he had them delivered to the pitch, straight to my chair,” Louis said. “Mortified the life out of her.”

Zayn seemed fondly amused by this, which Louis liked to see. It was a mark of their very difficult and hard-won progress.

Louis’ version of the flowers had always been a very long and good Valentine’s blowjob, lovingly executed the morning of. And the nice thing about that was it didn't cost any money and he didn't need to rely on anyone to deliver it.

“What did I do?” Mia said, coming down the stairs, tablet in hand and her dark hair pulled back severely into a high ponytail, as was apparently the trend these days. “Who's saying my name?”

“Did you know it was Valentine's Day?” Louis asked her.

“Yeah,” Mia said. “Why, didn't you?”

“No, we thought today was Thursday,” Liam said.

“Ohh, I was wondering why you two were being less gross than usual.”

“Don't you do cards at school anymore?” Louis said. “I didn't get an email from Oliver’s teacher, or yours.”

“No, they've put a stop to that,” Mia said. “It leaves the weird kids out.”

“Compassion, love,” Louis said.

“Sorry. The less popular kids.”

At that moment the boys came running into the room like maniacs, chased by Sheba, whose nails skittered loudly on the floor. When they noticed the coterie of adults, they slowed down.

“Can we have lunch?” Oliver said to no one in particular.

“Lunch!” Liam said gaily, and picked him up to throw him fireman style over his shoulder, which made him laugh hysterically. “Yeah, what do you want?”

“Froot Loops,” said St. John immediately, like this was a lunchtime staple the world over.

Liam took them into the kitchen, talking soberly to them about possible alternatives.

“Bye Dad,” Mia called after him, and then gave Louis one of those brief pre-teen hugs. “Bye Dad.”

“Bye,” he said, stroking her hair. He always got so melancholy when she had to leave on Fridays; he had since she was a baby. Fridays had been permanently wrecked for him. “Have fun, you two.”

“I think we’re goin’ out on the Thames tomorrow,” Zayn said, putting his sunglasses back on. “Danny’s taking his yacht out, having a little get together with people from the label…”

This made Mia’s eyes shine with excitement, which made Louis nervous in turn.

“Maybe let's don't bring her to an adult party,” Louis said, his mouth going faster than his brain.

Mia rolled her eyes.

“It's not a party, Lou,” Zayn said. “Ten people tops. It's good for her to get cultured.”

“Please, and I haven't seen Dad in like three weeks,” Mia said, rolling up her tablet to stick it in her back pocket.

“This doesn't have to do with you seeing him,” Louis said. “You’re seein’ him. He's right there. I just worry about that yes men crowd, is all.”

“Louis, I don't even drink anymore, it's fine.”

“I know, I know.”

“We’ll keep the cocaine use to a minimum,” Zayn added, and winked.

Louis choked back a laugh. “Yeah, mind that, would you?”

“I'm gonna do _so_ much cocaine,” Mia said grandly.

Louis instantly sobered. “That's not funny when you say it,” he reprimanded her. “ _Don't_ — do _not_ roll your eyes. Quit it. I'm proper sick of all this eyerolling.” Twelve-year-olds were a nightmare.

“Alri-ight!”

They waved to him as they went on their way.

“Love you!” Louis hollered after her. “Be safe! If you go on the boat, don't lean on the railing! Stay in the middle! Keep your phone charged! Bye!”

“Bye, Dad!” she yelled back as the door swung shut and she and Zayn faded into blurry figures behind the beveled glass.

Louis stood there for a moment. Zayn had been showing signs again of wanting to domesticate; he was on another tour, but he kept insisting it was going to be his last one for a long time, and he seemed to be getting serious with this Nina girl. And he'd gone to the parent-teacher thing, which was unusual.

It wasn't that he wasn't involved her school career, but he was not a parent teacher conference-going type of dad. He told Louis this when she was three and they were looking at preschools.

“I'm not, like, really into that end of it, mate,” he said, when Louis asked for his input. (This annoyed Louis, because at the time he was also in the middle of planning his wedding and getting ready for the band’s initial comeback tour). “You can pick. Long as it's not like some weirdo place where they call the teacher her first name or whatever.”

Sometimes Mia came back from Zayn’s on Sundays without her homework done, which was frustrating, but Louis couldn't entirely blame him for this. He wouldn't want to spend half his time with his kid making her do her homework, either.

Mia’s teacher had been surprised to see Zayn, when he walked into the classroom behind Louis for the parental detente. “Oh!” she said. “Hello. Are you Mia’s dad? I don't know if we've met.”

“We haven't,” Zayn said, and shook her hand. “Zayn Malik.”

“Hi, Zayn, I’m Gretchen. I was expecting your husband,” she said to Louis.

Liam was dutifully involved, moreso than Louis. He brought sweets to all the events, even if he only had time to run by Greggs. He charmed all of Mia’s teachers and coaches, and picked her up whenever Louis couldn't. He had even been a local Scouts troop leader, for the short four months Oliver had been a Scout.

“Yeah, Zayn thought he ought to come to this one,” said Louis.

“Oh, alright,” she said, somewhat too cheerfully.

The downside of a posh school like this was how funny everyone got about things like the fact that the three of them were ten years younger than the rest of the parents, or that they were all covered in tattoos, or even that Mia was from a previous relationship. When she had played Macduff in a particularly goofy junior secondary staging of Macbeth, Louis came to every rehearsal and sat up top so he didn't embarrass her. Gwen Crossley, mum to the kid who was playing Banquo and someone he'd known since Mia was in primary, would join him most afternoons — finally, one day she leaned over and said, “Forgive me for asking, but does Liam have a bit of Black Irish in him?”

“Sorry?” Louis said.

“Your daughter, she's a bit olive, isn't she? And she's got such beautiful dark hair.”

Louis stared at her. “Gwen. You havin’ me on?”

She blinked at him.

“Mia’s not Liam's,” he whispered. “I had her with me other bandmate, Zayn. He's Pakistani.”

“Ohh!” she exclaimed, eyes wide as biscuits. “Oh, that explains it.”

Zayn would hate that story, so he never told him. Even Liam sort of hated it, and Louis regretted telling him immediately. He had thought it was funny, but Liam laughed without any warmth and went to go thaw out some steaks for dinner. His reproachful fake laugh was always awful; Louis would prefer an honest bollocking any day of the week.

Liam didn't like being reminded that he had no biological ties to Mia, and he was chafing now that Zayn was more involved. He hardly ever said anything aloud, but Louis could tell that he was afraid if Zayn put down serious roots in London and started staking claim to all fatherly duties, if he took Louis up on the offer of shifting the week/weekend schedule (or even reversing it, if Mia wanted that) that he would be pushed to the fringes of her life and begin to fade away.

Louis tried to reassure him, although it was hard to get the chance to, because Liam so rarely put a voice to these insecurities. Recently he had — late at night in their marital bed — confessed that he thought the older she got, the more Mia was drifting away from him. This upset Louis terribly. He snuggled up against him and kissed him all over his sweet sad face, murmuring, “You're full of it, alright? Alright? I fucking mean it. You'll always be a dad to her. Always. You changed her nappies, you were there when she walked the first time. Don't say that shit.”

“Okay,” Liam whispered back, gazing at him in the dark.

“Always, Payno, always.”

“Okay.” He kissed Louis on the forehead.

“Family ain't born, it's made.”

“I know, love.”

“Her gettin’ closer with Zayn doesn't say anything about you.”

Liam had inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, then nodded.

When he heard Zayn’s car pull out, Louis turned away from the front door and went in the kitchen where Liam was making cheese toasties in a pan.

“The cuisine of my people,” he said, coming over to the stool where Oliver sat next to St. John as they pored over a video of someone building a Formula One car, and ruffling his hair.

“This was the compromise between Froot Loops and Shepherd’s pie,” Liam said, grinning. “I'm not sure how it's a compromise, but here we are.”

He flipped the toastie in the pan, which was a cool enough sight to make Oliver and St. John look up from the tablet.

“Do it again, Dad,” Oliver ordered.

Liam complied with a nervous grimace, getting less air under the toastie this time.

“One more, babe,” Louis said, and Liam shot him a little glare. He laughed.

“I’m on hold with the flowers bloke,” Liam said, indicating his phone where it lay on the counter.

Louis’ own phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from Zayn. _i dont appreciate it when u undermine me like that in front of her, id never put her in a bad situation and u know that mate_

“Love, you don't have to do that,” Louis said absent-mindedly as he tapped out a response to Zayn ( _I get it. sorry. never worry about her with you. Just don't love how she idolizes the industry_ ). “They can come tomorrow.”

“Aww, but it's our tradition,” Liam said, serving up the toasties and carefully removing the tablet so it didn't get cheese on it.

“What about our other tradition?” Louis said.

Liam glanced up at him. Louis lasciviously poked his tongue into his cheek. Liam grinned.

“Yeah, what about that one?” he purred.

The kids, absorbed with eating, twigged to none of this.

Louis’ phone went off again. _Yea ik i feel that way too dont worry.. im not going to let her get misled by anybody_

 _I know you won't bruv,_ he texts back. _Have a good weekend_ _Xx_

_Thanks will do x. i'll send pics if she falls overboard_

_Ha ha ha !! Funny lad_

St. John looked up. “What's Valatine’s Day for?”

“It's the holiday for _lo-ove_ ,” Liam said, with the good cheer of somebody who’s just been promised a blowjob. “And _romance_.”

“What's romance?” Oliver said, looking between them.

“It's like when people really like each other, so they kiss loads and get married,” Louis said. “Like me and your dad.”

“You kiss loads?” St. John said, through a mouthful of grilled cheese.

“They do,” Oliver said, in a hilariously resigned way. He sounded so much like Liam sometimes

“I don't like movies with kissing. Kissing’s gross.”

“It is gross,” Oliver agreed.

Liam came over around the island, his eyes twinkling, and started kissing Louis on the mouth to a loud chorus of objections. Louis laughed against his lips and cupped Liam's face in his hands, stroking at his short beard.

He was thinking that as soon as St. John’s nanny came by to fetch him, they could go upstairs to the bedroom, when their phones began buzzing again.

“Fuck,” Louis muttered, to the great amusement of the kids. He pulled his out of his pocket, still resting his other wrist on Liam's shoulder. “Doorbell?”

“Maybe Zayn came back,” Liam suggested.

Zayn had not. It was Harry, who always looked to Louis these days slightly inhuman, like he had stepped off of a magazine cover. He was so well-preserved and shiny, so deep conditioned and Botoxed, and usually wearing something stupid that looked great on him. The last time they saw Harry, Louis waited until he went to the toilet and said, “D’you think he realizes he's dressed like Bill Nighy in Love Actually?” which made Niall choke on his prosecco.

“Are we having a band reunion?” Louis said when he opened the door.

Harry looked at him funny over the tops of his sunglasses.

“Zayn’s just been by to pick up Mia,” he explained.

“Oh,” Harry said. He was always made so much more stilted by even the most passing mention of Zayn. He took his sunglasses off, then, and slid one leg into his breast pocket. “No, I'm here for —”

Liam appeared behind Louis and extended his hand to Harry. In it was a slim box, like for a watch.

Harry looked relieved. “Thanks, mate.”

“Jewelry?” Louis said.

Harry gave him that wry little _chill out_ smile. “Apparently I left this at yours ages ago. Thought I lost it, then Liam texted me that he was cleaning and found it, thank God. Cost a bloody fortune.”

“Right,” Louis said. “He’s been cleaning all day.”

“We have too much shit in this house,” Liam said. “Drives me a bit crazy sometimes.”

Harry nodded. “Very Virgo.”

“Dunno what that has to do with anything,” Liam said amusedly. “Well, happy Valentine’s, Harry.”

“Too bad you've just missed Zayn,” Louis joked, in his shitstirring way. He could never seem to help making those little comments about each of them to the other.

“Har har,” Harry said, with a very minute eye roll. “Would've stayed in my car if I hadn't.”

“Fair,” Louis said.

“What are you two doing?” Harry said. “Going out or anything?”

“We actually forgot it was the holiday today,” Liam said sheepishly. “Thought today was Thursday.”

“Maybe order in,” Louis said. “Watch a movie.”

“Need a babysitter?” Harry said, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Mmm, if only you were serious,” Louis said.

Harry grinned. “Yeah, I'm not. I've actually got a flight tonight. But it was nice to see you two.”

“Yeah, yeah, come over whenever,” Liam said.

“Come babysit whenever,” Louis added.

Harry laughed as he walked away, waving with his keys in his hand. They waved back, then Liam squeezed Louis’ shoulders.

“When is this kid getting picked up,” Liam murmured in his ear as Harry’s China grey Aston Martin pulled out of their drive. “‘Cos I really want to do some celebrating.”

“Weren't you on hold with the flowers bloke?” Louis said, drawing back a bit.

Liam’s eyes widened. “Oh, no,” he said, and slipped his phone from his pocket. “He’s hung up on me. Shit.”

“Don't worry about it,” Louis said, and kissed him.

 

St. John’s nanny was thankfully brisk, spiriting him away to their Rolls at six o’clock on the dot. “Bye Oli!” he hollered over his tiny shoulder as she pulled him along. “Seeya!”

“Let's play Hot Wheels at school!” Oliver yelled at him. “On Monday!”

“Okay!”

Louis ruffled his hair. He did that a lot. He loved Oliver’s funny little mop — it was so similar to how he wore his own at that age. “So, what's the story, sonny boy?”

“What?” Oliver said, squinting up at him.

“Nothing,” Louis said with a smile. “What d’you want to do with the rest of your day? It's the start of the weekend, apparently, so you've got a bit ‘til bathtime.”

Oliver considered this. “I want to play Legos.”

“Legos it is.”

They went back in, and Oliver ran off upstairs while Louis went to go find his husband.

Liam was in one of their storage rooms, clearing off a shelf. “Jeez,” he said, “do we ever clean this place? There's like, shit from when we moved in here. It's a nightmare.”

“It can't be _that_ bad,” Louis said.

Liam handed him something. It was the card Nick Grimshaw sent them when Oliver was born.

“Alright,” Louis conceded. “It's a bit bad. I just like to keep everything.” He flipped it open and began reading. “Aww… this was nice, wasn't it? We ought to have Nick over more often.”

“Let's go to the container store tomorrow,” Liam said, wiping his dusty hands on his jeans. “But I think I've done all I can today.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed, and took him by the hand to lead him upstairs.

He stripped fast and laid back against the bedspread, watching as Liam took his clothes off in the hazy dusk light pouring through their very tall windows. Liam was in a lull at work lately, so he'd gotten into one of his incessant workout moods, and looked very good.

He knelt onto the bed between Louis’ legs and then lay down over him, burying his face in the crook of his arm, running his thumb over Louis’ pec.

“Hmm,” Louis said, smiling, because Liam's breath was tickly. “You want me to blow you, or you just gonna sniff me armpit?”

“Think I'll sniff your armpit a while,” Liam said, then blew a raspberry into it, which made him roll into a ball and convulse in giggles.

Liam pressed him back against the bed, and Louis went boneless and limp, gazing up at him. Liam cupped Louis’ jaw hard in the V of his thumb and forefinger, and studied him with playful dark eyes.

“Hey,” Louis said, because those were his fuck eyes. “Blow job.”

“Oh, right,” Liam said agreeably, and rolled onto his back.

Louis tore his boxers off and licked at his cock’s head eagerly. He was already half-hard, and he let out a long moan when Louis’ mouth connected.

They hadn't had sex in a week or two. Louis had gotten very busy with work, and Liam had lately embarked on a bunch of projects, which he always did around this time. The first warm day of the year had come and gone, and that seemed to trigger some instinct in him, like he was a robin.

The last time they had sex it had been angry makeup sex. They argued over whose job it was to feed Sheba in the mornings, and then gotten tangled up in a bunch of _You alwayses_ and _You nevers_. Then Louis had accidentally laughed at Liam's angry brow, because it looked like Oliver’s, and Liam had started laughing at himself, and they deflated suddenly like pool floaties and gone to have sex in the shower with Liam's arm wrapped firm around Louis’ waist and Louis grabbing his hair. They didn't need to say sorry. They could say it with a look, by now.

Louis craned his neck slightly so that as he bobbed on Liam he could look up at him, sagged back against the pillows with his dark brow knit and his lips parted. Louis loved seeing him like this, watching him let himself be taken care of.

 

CHELSEA, FEBRUARY 14, 2028

The place Zayn had gotten with Nina was posh and modernist, barely any walls, just flat expanses of dark marble and SubZero and black hardwood. In the foyer Zayn took his motorcycle jacket off, then accepted Mia’s pink leather one from her, and tossed them onto a rack that held what was probably a few hundred thousand dollars worth of his and Nina’s outerwear. Nina’s little dog scampered in out of another room, and Zayn scratched it under the chin before turning to Mia.

“Hungry?” he said.

She shrugged.

“Wanna paint?”

“Yeah.”

The house was silent in that way that all extremely expensive houses are silent; totally insulated from street noise, with dishwashers that purred instead of clinking. Mia had been shocked the first time she went home with Sasha, who was well-to-do with a banker father, but not rich. Their dishwasher was noisy, she could hear the street from inside, and there were stains on the counter.

It got quieter the deeper into the house you went, reaching a peak in the soundproof painting room, but they both liked it that way. They were working on an impressionist mural together. There was no rhyme or reason to their work, just explosions and patterns of color. Months ago they had each picked a side of the massive canvas and were each steadily making their way toward the middle.

Mia splashed some orange onto her side and admired how it looked.

“Where's Nina?” she said to her father.

He turned to her, the plastic sheet underneath them crinkling under his bare feet. “Uh… Milan. Ferragamo show.”

“But it's Valentine’s Day,” she said. She liked Nina. She was always very cosseting of Mia, like an older sister, and Mia didn't really have a female influence in her life besides her dozen or so aunts.

“I sent flowers to her hotel room,” Zayn said, like this made up for it.

“Huh,” Mia said, flicking her brush at the canvas.

“This sort of work, you get used to not seeing people much,” Zayn said. “Not a big deal.”

He pushed his hair back off his face. He was getting a little gray. Mia hadn't noticed this until Louis mentioned it (“Your dad’s going a bit gray, isn't he?”) and now it worried her. He was only in his thirties.

“My dad went gray round this age too,” Zayn said to her when she asked. “Don't worry about it.”

But it wasn't just that, right? He’d had a hard time. He was still having a hard time, in some ways. On his last tour he kept cancelling dates, and that was all over the entertainment news for a few days. (Mia watched entertainment news obsessively — it was so much better than the regular news, and they were always talking about people she'd grown up with as family friends. It was delightfully salacious to hear them talk about the DUIs and cheating scandals of people she saw at her dads’ Christmas parties.)

“Dad needs someone to take care of him,” she told Louis last year, and he'd just said, “What makes you think that, lovebug?” which she felt was condescending.

But she was right, wasn't she? He had found Nina. Except Nina wasn't taking care of him, she was in Milan. No one ever did anything right. Mia felt this way all the time — in her classes, on the football pitch, with her family. If everyone just did the obvious correct thing, everything would go so much better. It was exasperating.

It was like this stupid thing with acting class, where Louis didn't want her to take them because he was so protective of her for _no_ reason, even though she could see her future laid clearly out in front of her and acting was absolutely going to be a necessity in some way. Even models took acting classes.

Mia didn't get what the problem was. None of them had finished secondary, and they had more money than God, but they acted like she was going to throw away her future and become a day laborer. Louis actually used those words, a _day_ laborer, he was always so melodramatic. Like he'd actually shut her out of inheriting tens of millions just to teach her a lesson about work ethic.

Which she had. She did have one. Just not about school. Because school was daft, every part of it, and how could they look at her and tell her it wasn't when each and every one of them had tossed it aside to go be in a talent show?

Zayn was the only one she sort of believed when he said he wished he'd finished, because he got all funny and misty in the eyes when he did. “I think I should’ve been someone else, sometimes.”

They just wanted her to be so normal, all the time, and do the things they didn't get to, and Mia hated being normal. She couldn't be, anyway. No one could be normal when they got stopped in Topshop by women in their thirties going, “Sorry, love, you just look so familiar, do I — ohh! You're — ohh. Sorry.”

Sasha envied her this so much. “You're _famous_ ,” she would say, and Mia hated that, because not really. Not in a good way. Not for anything _she_ did. She was famous for being born. She was the grown version of a pub trivia question — _What superstar pop group had a pregnant member during their biggest-ever world tour?_

She watched videos from the last date once, out of curiosity. Louis didn't even look like himself. He looked peaky and sad, exhausted and drawn. Liam kept glancing over at him the whole night, clearly worried. When they hugged, it looked like each was holding the other on his feet.

She couldn't quite believe it had been her in there. It seemed wrong that he had been that young and that tormented when he was creating her. In her head, she'd anachronistically imagined that time being the same as when he was pregnant with Oliver — him as a happy homebody, thirty years old with laugh lines and married to Liam, working in his offices in London. Not running around the world in Vans and skinny jeans and rowing furiously with her dad in public. It made her sad. She watched him in that grainy stageside video and wondered, did he ever blame her?

She couldn't imagine that he did. Louis doted on her like mad, even when she drove him to distraction. But he was so mad at Zayn for so many years, and she was half Zayn, wasn't she? Maybe that was why she was protective of him. Liam and Louis took care of each other. It seemed like hardly anyone took care of Zayn. Mostly, it seemed like he didn't even want them to.

“Silver,” he said to her.

“Huh?”

Mia glanced back at the canvas, which was filling up more and more. The setting winter sun was streaming in the window, making the fresh paint glow.

“Flick a bit o’ silver over what you just did.”

She obliged. It looked good; gave the orange flecks of metallic sparkle.

“Nice,” Zayn said, smiling. “Alright, I dunno if you're hungry yet, but I am.”

She found she was. She followed him into the hall.

“How's Sasha?” he called behind him.

“Fine.”

“How's your teammates?”

“Fine.”

Zayn fell silent for a moment. “Maths still giving you trouble?” he said.

They arrived in the kitchen. He started pawing through the fridge, setting aside prepped meals his chef had left him.

“Yeah,” she said, “but it always does.”

“Tutoring going alright?”

“Uh-huh.”

Zayn held out a frozen lasagne and raised his eyebrows. She nodded, so he started taking the plastic wrap off it. “How's that kid you fancied?”

“Who?”

“That kid,” he said. “From school. Devin, or summat.”

“Ohh,” she said. “That was months ago. He’s had a haircut and he's ugly now.”

Zayn laughed as he turned to the microwave. “Just like that?”

“Boys turn ugly easily,” Mia said.

Zayn nodded sagely.

“When does Nina get back?” she said.

“Tuesday.”

“Oh.”

Zayn reached over and mussed her hair. “I’ve just found this documentary I think we should watch together.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it's about Erykah Badu —”

“Oh, _cool_ ,” she exclaimed, and he grinned.

 

LONDON, FEBRUARY 14, 2028

Liam and Louis showered together and were lying in bed talking when they heard a little rap at their door.

Louis chuckled. “Yeah…?”

“Hi,” Oliver's little voice called from the hallway.

“Hi, lovey,” Liam called back.

“Can I come in?”

“What's wrong?” Louis said.

“I'm tired of playing Legos.”

Louis picked up his phone and waved it at their bedroom door, disengaging the lock. Oliver pushed it open and dive bombed them, landing on the bed like a missile. Liam tackled him and blew raspberries on his stomach. He giggled hysterically.

Louis watched them, smiling. “You get lonely, Oli?”

“No,” he exclaimed in defiance.

“I think you did. I think you got a bit lonesome.”

“No,” he lied, and curled up in between them. “No. I'm a big boy.”

Liam looked up, grinning in amusement.

“Alright there, big boy,” Louis murmured, and gently carded his tattooed fingers through his son’s hair.

Oliver looked up at them, with Liam's wide dark eyes. “I wanna have a catch.”

“Okay,” agreed Louis. “Let's have a catch.”

 

Louis pitched for a couple rounds, but Oliver got tired of being challenged (because Louis always played catch with the aim of building up his ball handling skills) and begged for Liam, who threw the ball directly into the center of his son's palm every time.

Liam took over, then, and Louis settled into a patio chair with a Corona to watch.

“Put a bit of spin on it, Payno,” he called. “How's he gonna become a cricket star at this rate?”

Liam chuckled. “Yeah, how’re we gonna afford to retire?”

This joke never got old to them. Haha, what if we weren't rich. Louis liked to pretend it was true, sometimes. He was always hauling them around to do normal people things. Let's spend a day at the beach being normal! Let's buy ten dollar shit towels at Tesco’s, wear old t-shirts and eat horrid convenience store food hot off the roller grill!

They liked to mock each other for it, but they all did it to some extent. Niall was the worst of them, but Liam too, even Harry in much subtler ways. And last year when Louis and Zayn had taken Mia around their respective hometowns to show her what made them, they had fallen back as she went ahead exploring an alley in Bradford, and Zayn said to him, almost wistfully, “Imagine if we'd never gone out for X Factor, like, but you an’ me met… and we had her anyway?”

Louis stayed quiet with a little lump in his throat, keeping one eye on his inky-haired daughter up ahead. It was sort of a nice idea, in a way. He'd probably have married Zayn. They'd have a little house and crap jobs and fight like mad all the time. Things would be difficult, but so much simpler.

But Louis loved Liam. And he couldn't imagine life without him.

“I don't like cricket,” Oliver announced, tossing the ball back to Liam.

“Why not?” said Louis. He sipped his beer.

“Boring.”

Louis nodded in understanding and settled back into his chair. It had become a nice evening, despite the cold. Oliver no longer seemed bothered by his scrape.

He watched Liam, whose brow was furrowed as he concentrated. He looked older, lately, in a nice way. He had been a man for a long time, a dad for a long time, but now he fully looked the part. He had come to resemble his own dad, a bit.

Louis was spooked by him, some days, when he woke and looked at Liam sleeping next to him. The slight receding of his chestnut hair at the temples, the hollowing under his cheekbones, the speckled grey throughout his morning stubble. Who is this grown man in my bed? When did we both get so thoroughly into our thirties?

Louis did find it sexy and almost sort of dirty to be having sex with someone who looked so authoritative. He was lucky to find he did still find Liam so attractive, after all this time. It helped that Liam traveled often enough for work that he had chances to miss him, and that they still did romantic things for each other, and that they were both doggedly loyal.

Liam noticed him looking, glanced over and winked. Louis laughed, and Liam laughed, too. Oliver stood there in the dusk light, seeming puzzled by them and their funny warm marriedness.

“Are we ready to go in, then?” Liam said.

“Yeah,” Oliver said. “I wanna play video games now.”

Louis pretended to consider this. Oliver very intentionally adopted a puppyish expression, widening his eyes, wrinkling his snub nose.

“Fine,” Louis agreed. “But you stop twenty minutes before bath time.”

“Okay,” Oliver said, and bolted into the house.

Louis followed him in, and then his phone buzzed in his pocket and the doorbell rang out.

He made his way to the foyer, opened the door, and found to his great surprise that the flowers bloke was standing there.

“Oh!” Louis said.

“Can I put these anywhere?” the bloke said. He was carrying a very large box of daisies, and looked strained.

Louis led him to the sitting room, where he set the box on the hardwood floor and began putting bouquets of daisies everywhere: the very long antique coffee table, the table under the telly where they threw their magazines, the bookshelves, even.

Liam appeared in the doorway, smiling, and came over to Louis, who whapped him appreciatively on the arm.

“I had you fooled,” Liam said, his eyes twinkling. “You thought I wasn't gonna pull it off, Tommo.”

“Ahh, I should’ve known.”

Liam tipped the flowers bloke generously, and once they'd seen him out, Louis led him upstairs for the second time that day.

They didn't have to say anything. Louis liked that. He could just lay back on the bed in the warm, enveloping darkness of winter, and shuck his clothes off, and his handsome husband would flick the lock and come over, unbuttoning his shirt.

Liam lay down over him and kissed him deep on the mouth, with a little aggression behind it. He nicked Louis’ bottom lip with his teeth. Louis gasped and arched up into him.

“Hi,” Liam purred, caressing Louis’ collarbone.

Louis met his eyes with a wicked look and rolled over, pressing his arse against Liam's semi.

“Happy Valentine's Day,” Louis murmured in a low voice.

“Ohh,” Liam groaned. “Alright.”

He got the lube and all that, and before long they were having some very nice, slow doggy style. Liam was clearly in a handsy mood, yanking his hair and pinching his arse exactly the way he liked and was always requesting. Louis pressed his face into a pillow and let himself go wonderfully boneless, like he was getting in a hot bath.

“Liam,” he moaned, “slower, deeper —”

“I can't go any slower, even, love —”

Louis rolled back over. They always ended up looking at each other, no matter how they started off. Liam smiled at him and got close, and then they were kissing again. Long, slow, meandering kisses.

Louis was struck by a sudden longing to have another baby. He often felt like this when they were having sex, or late at night, and in the cold light of morning he would feel completely different. All he could think of was how he didn't fancy going through all that again, that two kids was fine. Perfect, even. Three kids meant they wouldn't have the house back until he was fifty-four.

But he sometimes thought that when he got to feeling like this, in the cover of murky nighttime, that he get up and should flush all his birth control down the toilet and leave Practical Daytime Louis to just deal. Que sera, sera. But he couldn't ever quite bring himself to.

They were welded so closely to each other when Liam came that Louis didn't know it was happening, until Liam shifted against his shoulder and bit down on it, letting out a wearied groan and then a sigh. Then he moved south and began to blow Louis with his nice lips and skilled mouth.

Louis came after only a few minutes of this and lay breathing heavily, perfectly content, while Liam wiped semen off his chin. Then he untangled their limbs despite Liam's soft protests, and went into the bathroom to wipe the come from his arse and thighs. When he came back, Liam was spread-eagle on the bed in the dark. He was framed beautifully in shadow. His jaw was very square, his expression sphinxian.

Louis wondered what he was thinking about. Or maybe he wasn't thinking anything. Louis didn't tend to think about much of anything after he came: it was one of the benefits of coming. Blankness.

When he and Liam were first married and he'd had to go on antidepressants that little while, he had blanked, but not in a good way. His brain went quiet, like a curtain had been pulled around it, and the world became gauzy and distant from him. He talked much less, which scared the hell out of everyone.

Louis returned to Liam and knelt over him on the bed, pinching his nipples. Liam laughed and grabbed him by the wrists, and then Louis flopped against the bed and Liam curled around him, draping a leg over his torso and burying his face against Louis’ throat.

“You know what,” Liam murmured, his voice low from sex. “I was supposed to work out today. Since it was Friday after all.”

“Think we both were, actually.”

“Right,” Liam said. “There’s still time...”

“There is, but,” Louis said. “Sex is an alright replacement.”

“Is it?”

“Cardio, innit?”

“Hmm.” Liam didn't seem to care either way. He was busy kissing Louis’ shoulder.

“You still _like_ me,” Louis teased him. “You’ve still got a crush on me.”

Liam blew a raspberry on him, and he jerked away, laughing.

“Remember that last Valentine's Day before we got together?” he said, staring up at the ceiling. It was peaked like a barn ceiling, and made the room cool, which they both liked. Above them the fan spun silently in the grey darkness. “The one we spent together, for some reason?”

“Terrible,” Liam said.

“Was it? I thought it was proper fun.”

“No,” Liam groaned. “‘Cos I was besotted, and you had _no_ idea.”

“Right, I was with Zayn,” Louis murmured. That felt like a dream, or another life. “Not that anyone knew.”

“I knew you were with somebody,” Liam said. “You were all cheeky about it —” (he imitated Louis’ accent and vocal pitch) “— ‘No, I'm ‘avin’ fun bein’ single, I swear!’ and then you'd, like, wink.”

“I mean, it wasn't like me an’ him were _serious_ ,” Louis said.

He remembered February 14, 2015 — standing in Zayn’s hotel room doorway with one shoe untied, going, “Hey, you wanna, like... do anything tonight, mate?” and Zayn shrugged, said he’d probably just try to get to bed early and then offered him a half-smoked joint. Very romantic.

“No, I know.”

“And you were with Sophia.”

Liam kissed his shoulder again, as if to apologize for this.

“I thought you knew,” he said softly. “I thought you had to know. I was such a mess. I kept staring at you and laughing at everything you said.”

“Ah, you always did that, though.”

Liam blithely ignored this. “I had fun that night anyway, I s’pose.”

“Me too,” Louis said. “Sort of romantic in hindsight. You should've made a move on me, when we were drinking on the roof.”

“I should've,” Liam agreed.

“Then we could've had it off, and I would've had your OTRA baby, instead,” he teased.

“God,” Liam said, blanching at the prospect.

“I fancied you too, though,” Louis said, quickly changing the subject. “Even then. More than fancied you. I think — I dunno. When I found out, even though I knew she was Zayn’s, you were the only person I wanted to talk to about it. Just you. I mean, besides me mum.” He went quiet, then swallowed, the singing-worn muscles of his throat coming together. “I wanted you to hold me.”

And he did hold him. Tightly, in that ugly ritzy hotel room.

Liam was quiet. “When did you know I fancied you?”

“Oh,” Louis said. “I didn't believe it for so long. I thought — I just was stupid and insecure. Maybe I had a feeling when you asked me to marry you. Really thought you were just being noble, though.”

“Oh yeah, _soo_ noble,” Liam said drily.

“Right, Payno, you were such a monster for havin’ feelings for me. Should've driven you out of town with a pitchfork.”

“I did feel shitty a lot of the time,” Liam admitted. “Well, I was mixed up about it. I mean, I liked you before you were pregnant, but it got worse after.”

Louis laughed and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I must've been so sexy then.”

“I wanted to take care of you, I mean.”

“I know, I know.”

“I was still attracted to you,” Liam said, laughing. “When you weren't throwing up or screaming at somebody.”

“There was this moment,” Louis said, “in like, maybe early May? It was during a show. You were staring at me so fuckin’ much —”

“Oh no,” Liam groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“Liam —” Louis sat up on his elbow, incredulous. “We’re _married!_ We've been married a decade!”

“It's still embarrassing.”

“I didn't think too much of it anyway, I swear to you. I was too busy throwing up every five minutes.”

“Ohh,” Liam said, letting out a long amused sigh. “I wouldn't live through twenty-fifteen again if you paid me.”

“Christ, I know.”

Liam looked over at him, his dark eyes dancing. “You know, I never realized ‘til you mentioned it, but that means this is our thirteenth Valentine's Day together.”

Louis grinned. “‘Spose it is. Sick.”

“Lucky thirteen.”

They were quiet for a while, just cuddling. Louis checked his phone and saw it was about to be time to go make Oliver take his bath.

“How’d you know?” he said.

Liam cleared his throat, shifting against Louis. His knee bumped him in the ribs. “Huh?”

“How'd you know you liked me?”

Liam thought about it for a little bit.

“You looked different to me,” he said. “You smelled different. I'd had little crushes on you before. I mean, you spend that much time around somebody...”

“Right.” 

“But… one day you just smelled different. You looked different. I was getting nerves around you for the first time in ages.” Liam rubbed at his stubbly cheeks. “Kept dropping shit when you walked in the room. Couldn't concentrate on anythin’.”

“Hmm,” Louis said, low in his throat. “Go on.”

“I couldn't stop looking at you,” Liam said, and gently pushed him back down against the pillows. Louis giggled. “Couldn't think properly. I was hopeless.”

Liam kissed him on each cheek and his forehead, then laid down, resting his face against his chest. Louis ran his hands back and forth through Liam's soft hair, and left them clasped over the back of his head, cradling his skull.

“Sorry,” Louis said.

Liam shifted, so his scratchy cheek rubbed against Louis’ sternum, right over his heart. “Sorry?”

“I don't have anythin’ quite that romantic,” Louis said. “Guess I was slower on the uptake. I just wanted to be around you all the time. Felt funny if I wasn't. Like I was floating away.”

“Ahh, that's plenty romantic,” Liam murmured, and they went quiet again.

Louis was suddenly filled with childish anxiety, gazing at the top of his head, feeling his solid and comforting warmth. “I love you,” he said, in a small voice.

“I love you too,” Liam said immediately back, and kissed him on the chest.


End file.
